


Caramel Clusters

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Candles, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Neck Kissing, they are in love and i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Clary leaves a note on a box of matches. Isabelle gets the hint, and teases her for it.





	Caramel Clusters

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, Clizzy. I've missed you. I think I've written them a hundred thousand times as background pairings and in my unposted docs, but not something so focused. Gonna change that. This is very soft and it's not got a lot of substance in it, but I hope you like it!

Isabelle has a very soft laugh, for someone who looks so sharp. Clary pauses in the bathroom, her braids half-undone, and listens to the sound of it fill their flat. The laughter doesn’t fade even after an entire minute passes; if anything, it grows stronger and closer. Clary quirks an eyebrow, abandoning her hair and shuffling out of the bathroom, only to bump into Izzy’s chest in the doorway. 

“You’re the biggest worrier in the world,” Izzy says, still laughing softly. She catches Clary by the waist when she goes stumbling, and pulls her into a kiss. Clary melts into it, surprised but hardly minding. There’s coffee on her tongue and sweetness under her palms; how could she mind, when it’s Izzy she’s kissing?

Isabelle digs her fingers into the divots of Clary’s hip bones, pulling back with a soft smack of her lips. “Mmm, minty fresh.”

Clary takes a minute to breathe. When she can speak again, she meets Izzy’s sparkling gaze and says, “Not that I’m complaining about the kiss, or the laughing, but did I miss the joke?”

“No, but apparently I missed you panicking.” Izzy draws back even further, much to Clary’s disappointment, and holds something up. “I take it you wrote this?”

She’s holding a box of matches. It’s not the only one in their flat, which is saying something. On top of the box is a familiar note, covered in Clary’s hand-writing. It says: _Do not open until December, 1932._

Clary glances up. Izzy has a knowing grin on her face. 

“So all I need is a time machine, and I’m allowed to use the matches.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clary says, ducking around Izzy. She high-tails it to the bedroom, where she digs around in the drawers for a pair of thick socks. She has to dig for quite a while; Izzy has numerous strappy numbers and silky things in there, not to mention a dozen thick sweatshirts and countless pairs of leggings. They really need a walk-in wardrobe.

Of course, Clary isn’t innocent either. There’s a horde of ratty Converse shoes by the front door, and her winter coats bulge so far off the pegs that it makes walking through the hallway a claustrophobic experience. 

“Clary.” Izzy sounds amused. Far too fond. 

Clary scowls, dropping a thinner pair of socks in the drawer. She wants the socks that feels like a sweater wrapped around her toes. “I think I left my good socks at Luke’s. And my charger, so if you know where the spare is...”

The matches rattle as Izzy slides her hands around Clary’s waist, hugging her from behind. She can feel the box against the thin fabric of her damp shirt, pressing against the gentle curve of her stomach. Izzy is warm, and sharp, and soft in all the important places. 

Izzy drops a kiss on the base of her neck and murmurs, “You know I’m a big girl, don't you? I cut the crusts off my own sandwiches now.”

“You don't eat sandwiches,” Clary points out, rolling her eyes. “You eat salad and big bags of Cheetos. And _my_ leftover stir fry.”

“What’s yours is mine.” When Clary tries to turn, indignant, Izzy adds hastily, “The point is, I’m not going to burn the house down.”

Izzy kisses her neck again, grazing her teeth over her favourite cluster of freckles. Clary knows it’s her favourite, second only to the patch on her inner thigh, because Izzy’s told her so a thousand times, and because she colours it in sometimes with Clary’s paints, when they’re bored or lingering in the afterglow, and because she always kisses her hello there. 

“Fine! You’ve been leaving candles lit for the last week,” Clary complains. “You wander off to another room or you have to go to training, or for a run, and you don't come back for hours. Then I end up walking around blowing them out because otherwise our shitty curtains are going to go up in flames.”

Izzy stifles her laugh against Clary’s neck. She shudders at the sensation, holding firm to her irritation, even though it’s barely on the edge of real. 

“It’s not funny,” Clary insists. 

“It is, but only because I know that’s not the real reason,” Izzy teases her. She tightens her grip on Clary’s hips when she tries to turn, wriggling in her arms. When she goes limp and sighs dramatically, Izzy shares that soft laugh with the world again and says, “Tell me the real reason and I might sort this mess out for you.”

She tugs on one of Clary’s braids. They’re a little frizzy with how she’s pulled on them, and slept on them, and thrown them up in elastic bands while she painted in a furious burst of energy. Izzy’s always careful when she brushes her hair. It’s blissful, lying with her head in Izzy’s lap while she teases out the strands, scratching her nails against her scalp. Clary doesn’t even have to think very hard before she gives in with a whine, snatching the matches out of Izzy’s hand and throwing them down on the dresser. 

“All the candles are scented,” Clary complains, leaning back into Izzy’s hold. “You’ve got a pumpkin rum one in the kitchen, and allspice candles, and candy apple ones. That crackling one? That smells like caramel. Caramel, Iz! It’s like autumn in here, all the time, and I love it, but I’ve eaten like sixteen bags of popcorn lately just because I’m craving sweet things.”

Izzy snickers. 

“It’s not funny!” Clary says, raising her voice, but she’s smiling. It’s impossible not to smile when Izzy’s happy. And she’s not mad, not really. 

But she _is_ going to throw the matches out the window, as soon as Izzy lets her go. 

“I’ll bring it down to one candle a week,” Izzy promises her, speaking soft and slow against her, reaching up to undo one braid. She tugs a little again, for no reason. Clary tips her head back, sighing. 

“It’s fine,” Clary says, adopting a mournful, put-upon tone. “I’ll just walk around smelling like a candy factory. But when I get cavities from inhaling caramel smoke all day, it’ll be your fault.”

“You can handle a little sweetness.” Izzy hums, smirking against her skin as she lowers her voice. “Just like I can handle a little fire.”

Clary swallows. There’s a spark in her chest. She spins in Izzy’s arms and glides her fingers up her ribs, playing a song that only they know, and watches her pupils dilate, the sharp curve of her mouth softening. 

Clary pulls her close and says, “Prove it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to write a bit more femslash, and hopefully a lot of autumn fics for all pairings. If you want to leave prompts here or on twitter, I'd be delighted!! Thank you! <3


End file.
